


Running In The Halls

by AdamantSteve



Series: WIP Amnesty/FicDump [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Boarding School AU, High School AU, M/M, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1503476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is at boarding school - no one's around to take him home for the summer so he stays put. Bucky comes to visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running In The Halls

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: **this story is unfinished and unbetaed**. If you want to adopt this fic, or any of the others in this series, you are more than welcome!

The sun streams in through Steve's dorm room window, motes of dust catching in the light and glinting like specks of gold. He lays alone on his bed and tosses a baseball above himself just to catch it again, up, down, up, down. Pretty much everyone else has gone home, or to their parents' Hampton cottages 'to summer'. There are a few scholarship kids like Steve still around and the odd trust fund orphan, but they're out somewhere, at the lake or the dining hall, Steve doesn't know. The 'rejects' get left to their own devices over the holidays, with a skeleton staff to make the odd bit of food and make sure no one sets the place on fire.

 

He catches the ball and sighs. On days like these back in the city he'd be out in the street, running through cool geysers shooting out of 'accidentally' busted fire hydrants, trying to find a shady spot to sit in the park to read, sharing a popsicle with Bucky. 

 

Steve swings his legs off the bed and sighs again as he drops the ball on his little desk. The tattered photograph of him and Bucky with their arms around each other was taken last summer, and he taps one finger on the edge away from their faces so it doesn't get smudged. His hand itches to run over the soft teenage stubble Bucky had been growing in the picture, and Steve licks his lips unconsciously, remembering the taste of orange ice on Bucky's tongue. 

 

He opens the drawer and pulls out his wallet, counting the bills as if he doesn't know exactly how many there are. Not enough for a bus ride. Steve's stomach lurches dully as he sees in his mind's eye Bucky on the same bench as in the photograph, but instead of him sitting there, it's a pretty girl, or another boy, someone else to fill the space Steve left when he came out to the Academy. It's an old sort of jealousy, and Steve's used to the pang of it, low in his gut when he thinks of Bucky without him. It's stupid to wonder if Bucky misses him, but he does it anyway. 

 

The ball threatens to roll off the edge of the desk and Steve catches it before it does, glancing at the door as he determines whether or not to go find Tony or Vincent before settling back on the bed and resuming the lazy up, down, up, down of the ball.

 

After some indeterminable period of time, Tony appears and huffs, asking, "Still moping?" He's sticking around for the summer for much the same reason as a lot of the kids still here: his parents are busy, important people, too busy and important to deal with their child, and he professes not to care. Steve can't imagine not caring, but he doesn't press the issue, because Tony, for all his brashness, is his friend, and he understands not wanting to think about the things that you don't have much control over.

 

"I'm not moping," Steve retorts, huffing when Tony snatches the ball in mid-flight. He's not in the mood for the juvenile roughhousing they're all much too old for but still indulge in. It's too hot for that anyway. 

He's about to say as much when something makes him flinch in shock. "Get up!" Tony says, and Steve frowns and looks over to see Tony has a plastic water pistol that he's just shot at Steve with.

"Tony!" 

"Get up! Get up or I'll shoot you in the crotch and make it look like you peed yourself."

Steve shields his face with one gangly, teenager-sized hand and begrudgingly sits up. Tony shoots for his chest. "Alright I'm up!! What is it!?" 

"You have a visitor!" Tony crows, twirling the pistol in his hand before cursing at the line of water it leaks down his leg. 

 

"What?" Steve asks, because he's never had a visitor here, not even one of the nuns from the orphanage. 

Tony swipes his leg awkwardly on Steve's bedding in an attempt to dry it. "Yeah, the secretary was about ready to kick him out. Your little boyfriend," he nods towards the photograph above Steve's desk. 

"...What? H-how?" 

Tony's laugh is sweet and high, gleeful about meeting this boy Steve's told him and their other dorm-mates so much about in the dark. "Hobo express? I don't know," Tony shrugs.

 

Steve collects himself as best he can, looking at himself in the mirror by the door. The meals are big here, and when he's not 'moping', he's managed to pack some actual muscle onto his rangy frame. He presses his hair down as well as he's able and bites his lip as he turns back to Tony. "Go!" Tony urges, threatening him with the pistol again. 

 

The wooden stairs creak as Steve clatters his way down them, running past the sign that expressly forbids it. He rounds on the entrance hall to see Mrs Jackson looking disapprovingly at a boy that's unmistakably the one Steve's missed all this time. He's wearing the old brown bomber jacket they found under the bleachers in the park one day, but it fits better now. Steve stops where he is and the boy turns, lost expression turning immediately into the smirk that's burned into Steve's mind. 

 

They run into each other's arms, and it's not slow motion or in soft focus, but it is perfect. 

Bucky's taller, and he smells different, and he feels bigger, like more of a man than he was. Steve's not sure how long they hold on to one another, but it's long enough that Mrs Jackson clears her throat behind them twice before they part.

"So you do know this young man?" she says archly, and Steve's caught between feeling like he's disappointed her and wanting to cuss her out for acting so snottily towards his - Bucky.

"I sure do, Ma'am," he says in the end, arm still round Bucky's waist til he realises where it is and lets it fall to his side. Bucky lunges forward and grabs his bag, hoisting it onto his shoulder with an easy swing. 

"You'll have to fill out a visitor pass," she says, looking at Bucky like she'd looked at Steve when he'd first arrived, even with his neatly pressed uniform and hair perfectly in place. Steve isn't sure if he's proud of how much he's assimilated or ashamed of how different he must look to Bucky. He’s not sure where he fits anymore.

 

After Bucky's shrugged his way through some forms and written his name in the visitor log book, they're finally allowed out of Mrs Jackson's sight. They make it back to the stairwell before Bucky pulls at Steve's arm and stops him, fisting his hands in the sides of the preppy jacket Steve's wearing and catching his lips in a kiss. It knocks the breath out of Steve, and it's been ages since he had an asthma attack but he has to brace his arms against the wall either side of Bucky's head so as not to collapse.

 

Bucky grins at Steve when they pull apart, resting his head back against a black and white portrait of one of the Academy's old headmasters. "Buck," Steve whispers, still trying to get his breath back. "We can't-"

"Sure we can," Bucky replies, pulling a little tighter at Steve's jacket with more than a little air of the desperation he's only ever let Steve see.

A thrill runs through Steve at the sight, at the feel and the smell and the taste of Bucky being real and here; he’s not forgotten about him at all. He grins back giddily. "No, I mean, not... not here."

 

Tony's gone when they make it to the dorm, but he's left a note wrapped around a packet of condoms. Steve can feel his face burning when he throws them into his drawer and closes it, but Bucky doesn't say anything, just pushes Steve to the closest bed and straddles him. 

 

"Wait!" Steve cries, pushing at him and feeling a thrill at just how much sturdier Bucky feels; at how much stronger he feels too. "This is Sam's bed. He'd never forgive me if I-"

Bucky's face falls. "Who's Sam?" 

"He's my... my dorm-mate," Steve props himself on his elbows and nods around the empty room. "Tony, Sam, James, though we call him Rhodey. And me," he finishes looking at the bed to their right - Steve's bed with the little photograph on the desk next to it. 

 

Bucky leaps off him, a hive of compact energy always, and pulls the photograph off the wall. "You put a picture of me up?" 

Steve straightens out the bedding of Sam's bed and hides the heated flush on his face again. "Yeah," he says, turning and catching his breath when he sees Bucky again. His back is turned and he's studying the books and drawings tacked up around Steve's desk. "You've grown some," Steve says, and smiles when Bucky turns back to him.

"Me?! Are you kidding? What are they feeding _you_?" 

 

Steve looks down at himself, and supposes he must look somewhat different to how he'd looked at Christmas. He shrugs apologetically. "My allergies aren't so bad out here," he offers lamely.

"I'll say," Bucky replies, eyes tracking up and down Steve's body. He hears himself swallow in his head; he must look like such a dork.

 

They stand, regarding each other for a minute, and Steve's not sure what he ought to do. It's different, isn't it? He's barely spoken to Bucky in months, and now he's here, with these shoulders that are so much broader than he remembers them being, and a smirk that's much dirtier than it used to be. 

 

"Why are you here?" he asks, and immediately wishes he hadn't. "I mean. How. How did you get here?"

Bucky holds the photo, creasing it in his hand. He tosses it onto the desk and shrugs. "Hitch-hiked."

"From Brooklyn? Buck that's so dangerous!" 

"Wanted to see you."

 

He sticks his bottom lip out to pout theatrically, and Steve's thrown by that just as much as he's always been, transfixed by the cherry red gloss of Bucky’s mouth. 

"I'm glad you came," Steve tries again. He wants to ask so much - what Buck’s been doing, why he didn't call, if he’s run away, if he's... if he's here to do things with Steve some more. 

"The nuns know I'm here," Bucky tells him, as though he's read Steve's thoughts. He dumps his bag with a thud and pulls that pretty lip back between his teeth. "You did want to see me, didn’t you?" 

 

Steve reaches out and reels Bucky close. "Of course. I just feel like i'm gonna wake up any second and this is all gonna be a dream. Why didn't you call?"

Bucky wrinkles his nose. "You know the sisters, they’re always eavesdropping. It's expensive too."

"You could've reversed the charges."

"Why, do you have a sugar daddy I don't know about?" Bucky jokes, but there's a glint of coldness in his eyes.

"Never," Steve replies, pulling him in to hold him close. It's far too hot and stuffy in the room, but Steve holds on til Bucky wraps his arms around him. "Missed you so much Buck," he mumbles, squeezing him tight. 

 

Bucky moves to press his lips against Steve’s again and this time the kiss is frantic and searching, begging something of Steve that he tries his best to give. This time when they pull apart, Bucky holds on for a moment before smirking and grabbing at the tented fabric of Steve’s crotch. “So you did miss me.”

“Buck!”

“You scared we’ll get caught?”

“No! Well. Yeah, but not, uh,” Steve’s not sure what he wants or what he thinks. He wants to peel off every layer of the clothes it looks like Bucky hitchhiked all the way here in and kiss all the parts of him he’s thought about these long months while Tony and Sam and Rhodey have talked about girls in the town that don’t know they exist. He wants to lose himself in those lips and those eyes, dive right into everything Bucky is, all at once. It’s too much. He doesn’t know where to begin. 

 

“You gonna show me where I can wash up?” 

 

-

 

The bathrooms are mostly communal, banks of showers along one wall and sinks and mirrors the other side. Steve opens his locker to grab a towel and a bar of soap before gingerly hovering. “You gonna watch?” Bucky grins, and Steve feels himself start to flush but nods all the same. Bucky tosses the jacket over to him and then slowly peels off his tshirt, baggy and stretched from being worn for god knows how long. His chest is more defined than it used to be, broader too, and Steve knows he’s staring hard enough that Buck’ll make a joke about it soon, but he can’t stop looking. 

 

Next go Bucky’s tattered trainers and socks, followed by jeans that seem to be more hole than denim, til he’s left in just his underwear, a pair that Steve remembers from back home. From the first time he ever saw Bucky’s underwear revealed like bright treasure rather than in a drawer or chastely getting dressed. They’re red, and the elastic looks to be shot, but they still look good on Bucky’s body. He meets Bucky’s eyes and realises they’re not a coincidence. 

 

They come off too, joining the pile in Steve’s arms. He barely makes it out of the range of the water when Bucky turns the shower on, and then Steve’s stuck there watching Bucky tip his head back and close his eyes. 

“Can you gimme the soap?” he asks, blindly holding out a hand. Steve’s ass hits the sinks and then he turns to carefully place the clothes in a pile in one of the dry sinks before stepping forward to reach out and hand over the soap without getting wet, slipping out of range when Bucky tries to grab his hand.

 

“How long did it take to get here?” Steve asks over the rush of the water. Bucky scrubs soap over his arms and his chest, down his stomach to his - Steve drags his eyes away and focusses on the floor. 

“Couple days. It was actually real fun. We should both go... all the way out to California, Steve. Get a job picking oranges or something.” 

“Sure,” Steve laughs, because that’s not gonna happen. But then again, it’s Bucky, so maybe it will.

 

“Maybe I should wait for you in my room,” Steve says, worrying at his fingernail. He feels like he’s intruding somehow, even though Bucky’s the one who turned up unannounced. 

“I knew this place’d turn you back into a prude,” Bucky chides, running his hand through soapy hair and rinsing it. “What happened to you being my slut?” 

“Bucky!”

He grins in the way that is meant to be an apology but isn’t, sauntering over to drip on Steve whilst retrieving his towel. “Naw, you’re still my slut,” he whispers, running the tip of a wet finger over Steve’s hopeless erection once more. 

“Look, there’s not a lot of people here, but there are some people. You can’t. You can’t just go around saying things like that.”

 

“M’sorry,” Bucky lies, towelling off his hair, otherwise completely naked and half hard himself. Steve’s eyes keep getting dragged to it like a magnet. Little Buck. He’s seen a hundred other naked boys in this room before, but none of them have ever made him feel so completely off kilter as Bucky. There’s something to that revelation, that Bucky makes him still feel like this in this place, even though they’re both older and it’s been so long, and that Bucky seems to feel the same way. 

 

Steve’s totally hypnotised all over again. 

 

Bucky roots through his bag for a fresh pair of underpants and pulls them on, apparently satisfied that that’s a reasonable amount of clothing to wear around a school, grabbing everything else and marching back to the dorm. 

 

Steve trails behind him, hands awkwardly covering his crotch incase anyone happens to be around to see. But there is no one and as soon as they’re both in the room, Bucky 

shuts the door and tries to lock it. “There isn’t a lock, Buck,” Steve tells him. It wasn’t any different at the orphanage, really, but Bucky looks scandalised. “But here,” Steve grabs the chair from Tony’s desk. It’s slightly taller than the others in the room and there’s a groove worn into the wood from previous tenants in search of a little privacy. Steve props it up against the doorknob and shivers as he turns back to see Bucky sprawled on his bed like he’s just another pupil.

 

“You know, it’s kinda hot in here,” Bucky says. “You should probably take that off.” 

“My jacket?”

“Everything.” Bucky puts his hands behind his head and wiggles his toes, expecting a show. Steve’s not denied Bucky many things and he’s not about to start now. He undoes the buttons on his jacket, neatly putting it on the back of his own desk chair. Bucky kneels up on the bed though, since he has new ideas for what he wants, undoing the buttons on Steve’s shirt one by one before spreading it like a curtain. “Holy shit, Steve.” 

Bucky sits back on his heels and stares enough that Steve starts to feel unsure whether or not he likes the new body he’s found himself in. “I’m on the wrestling team,” he explains lamely, and Bucky laughs. “You don’t say.”

His hands are on Steve’s skin then, spreading over the skin and muscles beneath before wrapping his arms around and pulling Steve as close as he can, burying his face in Steve’s chest, letting out a little moan that he repeats when Steve runs his fingers through his damp hair. 

 

It becomes fluid, after that, smooth and easy. Bucky pulls Steve onto the bed and pulls his cock free, kissing it sweetly before sucking it down. Steve feels like he’s gonna wake up any moment and find he’s had a wet dream, but he doesn’t care, cause if the dream’s this good then he doesn’t want to wake up. It’s good, so good it’s perfect, but he needs to kiss Bucky at the same time, so pulls him up so they’re laying spread along one another to kiss languidly, Steve’s wet cock rubbing lazily over Bucky’s dry one. 

 

“You sucked anyone else’s cock?” Bucky asks, threading his own fingers through Steve’s hair as Steve noses down to his crotch. 

“No. Never.... Have you?”

“No.” 

Bucky’s voice is quiet, like he’s embarrassed or a little sad, and Steve figures they both should be, cause they’d promised, hadn’t they? That they’d be sensible and not think about each other like this anymore. But they both had, cause they’re both idiots. 

 

Steve’s ruined, he knows, cause he’s just a kid really, but the weight of Bucky’s cock on his tongue is so perfect he doesn’t think he’ll ever have enough. He wonders about other boys, other men, but he’s pretty sure Bucky’s the one he’ll always truly want. He smells like soap, but beneath that there’s the smell of his skin and a musk that his hasty shower thankfully didn’t completely wash away. He keeps the cock in his mouth but pulls off enough to breathe deeply through his nose, and Bucky chuckles something about Steve being a slut again. They’d figured that one out long ago, before the words even really meant much of anything, and when Bucky saw how much it made Steve fall apart at the seams he held on and never let go. Steve doesn’t mind. There’s something about it which makes a light inside him turn on and burn bright. He wonders if anyone else could have the same power over him and doubts it.

 

 


End file.
